Bested
by Indigo Montoya
Summary: A Predator is badly beaten by an Alien.


The wind came from the east kicking up dust clouds as it raced across the arid wasteland. It was dark the only light was from the baron planets twin moons. It was night but the temperature was still high enough to cause a heat wave. No human could live in conditions like this.  
  
A small desert rat-like creature scurried across a bolder. Its feet clawing and scratching as it ran looking for a cool place to rest. The rat stopped dead. It stood up on its hind legs and sniffed the rancid heat ridden air. Something wasn't right with the wind. The rat stood about two feet on its hind legs, still to aware to risk moving. Out of the sweltering breeze came an invisible force. It struck the rat hard. The rodent flew four meters away and fell nine feet to the rocky ground below.  
  
A cackle echoed through across the boulders, a blue electric field buzzed around in the shape on a man. Then it appeared eight foot of solid muscle. Black dread locked hair dangled behind his metal face. He slumped down against the giant rock formation.  
He lifted his hand up and placed two massive discoloured fingers underneath his metal mask. He slowly moved his hand back down, the fingers covered with a glowing yellow green liquid. Blood.  
  
He craned his head down and checked the rest of his body for any other sign of major external trauma. There was a foreign object impaled into his thigh. The tip had penetrated through all of the muscles and was perturbing out the other side of his leg. The object looked like a knife blade that had been snapped off its handle. The blackness of the object stood out against the luminescent blood that surrounded it. Without hesitation he grabbed the gloomy razor-sharp dagger and ripped it out of his thigh. Blood ejaculated from the cavernous wound. He screamed, a deep guttural scream and dropped the spike to his left.   
  
He reached behind his back and produced a small metallic container. He gently pressed the circular button, the box hissed and the lid slid away. He identified the 'tool' he needed and took two of the same object. They were metal also, and shaped like a fork. The instruments were slightly smaller than his hand.   
With one in each hand he leaned over his injury. He pushed one into the wound on the underside of his leg with his right hand and the other into the entry wound. He squirmed with pain as he pushed each fork deeper into his leg. There was a muffle tick as the forks met inside his body. He pulled his hands away and wiped the blood and flesh off his hands on the rocks. He paused and waited. He could feel the slight tingle in the open leg. Then there was a loud snap followed by a liquid squelch like sound, and the once open wound slapped close in a small spray of blood. He roared and clenched his ham like hands into fist and brought them down hard onto the hard rock surface.  
He picked up the object that had inflicted so much pain on him. He also took a small cup from his 'tool box'. He tipped the dagger upside down and hung it over the cup. Strangely acid oozed from the cracked end and landed in the container. He then took a small syringe from his box and squirted the red liquid contents in with the blistering acid.  
  
He unclipped the valves by his mask and removed the mask. He caught a quick glimpse of his reflection. His top left tusk had been cracked open but had healed already. The wound on his fore head however was still openly flowing down his face. Which was a problem.  
  
His hand picked up the cup and raised it over his head wound. Not even flinching he poured the corrosive contents onto his forehead. He would have cried a river of tears at the pain if his body were capable of it.  
Instead of the acid burning through his skull the seething liquid cauterised the wound.   
  
He stopped and though about how foolish he had been. He had forgotten the very first rule his master at taught him. " Never under estimate the hunted". He had, and his failure as a hunter, caused more pain than any physical damage could ever do. Although. It was not too late to make amends.  
  
He reattached his helmet, and checked it was still operating. He took out his hunting spear and used it to help him up to his feet.  
  
He would make amends he swore it. It was a matter of honour and pride.  
  
The kainde amedha, the hard meat. That had bested him. Would soon suffer his vengeance and fury. And honour and glory would be his.  



End file.
